


like sleep to the freezing

by crownsandbirds



Category: Blue Lock (Manga)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Mild Sexual Content, bachira is fucking bonkers, bachira's yELLOW EYES, isagi is bonkers in his own way, thats it thats the fic, they deserve each other, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 20:44:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20607038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownsandbirds/pseuds/crownsandbirds
Summary: Isagi looks down, and he sees the curled-up form of a boy sleeping on the floor.The first thought that crosses his mind is,what the fuck.The second thought is,holy fuck, he’s pretty.Bachira and Isagi meet at Blue Lock.





	like sleep to the freezing

**Author's Note:**

> "He is thinking that if only he could cut him open and peel him  
back and crawl inside this second skin, then he could relive that last mile  
again: reborn, wild-eyed, free."
> 
> (you are jeff - richard siken)

Bachira is asleep the first time Isagi meets him. 

That alone is enough to draw Isagi’s attention, which so far has been shattered and distorted by the terrified bone-deep excitement at being in Blue Lock. When he steps forward into the room he was ordered to head to, his gaze skidders wildly around, taking in the sight of the other boys. They appear to be much like he is, suspicious, tension drawing at their shoulders, their bodies taut with anxiety at being faced with an unknown challenge none of them have received any guidance as to how to handle yet. Kira is a familiar face, thankfully, and it seeps away some of the nervousness that has been tightening his muscles into tension - but then he receives a shirt to the face, and when he stumbles back to catch his balance, he’s told, “You should be careful where you’re stepping”. 

He looks down, and he sees the curled-up form of a boy sleeping on the floor. 

The first thought that crosses Isagi’s mind is,  _ what the fuck. _

The second thought is,  _ holy fuck, he’s pretty.  _

Isagi’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight with a disturbing sort of interest he can’t stop himself from displaying. There’s something uncanny in the mere idea of a person being asleep right now, when Isagi can feel his heartbeat straining to quickness inside his chest, every single basic instinct in his body raised to jump out and fight at the smallest movement from those around him. He’s more wound-up than he’s ever been his entire life, and the same can be said about everyone else in the room - he can hear the strained conversation, the forced dialogue that comes with trying not to show someone how anxious you are; and yet the boy at his feet is sleeping as soundly as if he’s on his childhood bed. He’s curled up around himself like a kitten, the beautifully delicate lines of his face slack and completely relaxed, his eyelashes fluttering with whatever strange dreams are trailing inside his pretty head right now. His hair falls softly around his features, curly and messy and charming. He’s sucking on his thumb, Isagi realizes with a jolt, his lips wrapped around the finger, taking it in all the way down to the knuckle, as if he really is a child lulling himself to rest. It’s such a painfully innocent and lovely sight that Isagi takes an unconscious step back, his body reacting to it before his mind can fully comprehend the meaning. 

If someone can be asleep in this situation, he thinks, they can’t possibly be normal in any conceivable way. 

The boy is  _ talking _ too, his words mumbled around the thumb he’s sucking on, muttering, “Hey, pass, c’mon, pass to me -” and Isagi finds his perception split down the middle; while he’s not sure he wants to be around this boy when he wakes up, his uncannily relaxed disposition dragging at some sort of core self-preservation inside Isagi’s mind, he’s also painfully curious, curious enough that he wants to wake him up, kneel by his side and push his eyelids open and see how he reacts. Wants to fit his own fingers to the seam of his pretty lips, push inside his mouth and feel the hard edges of his teeth - he wonders if he has fangs, if his canines are sharper than usual, wonders if he would get bitten if he dared to tickle over the roof of his mouth. 

Ego shows up on the screen a bit after that, and Isagi finds himself distracted from the cat-like boy at his feet, his attention rushing to focus on the obsessive glint of Ego’s disturbing eyes and the demanding weight of his orders. The game proposed to them is enough to shove Isagi’s heartbeat back into its frantic pace, and he dedicates all of his thoughts to surviving the murderous structure of the dynamic they’ve been forced into. 

When the game of oni is picking up, Isagi’s body tensing up in the hyper-awareness that he’s been familiar with since the first time he had a soccer ball on his feet, and Igarashi kicks a ball at the sleeping form still relaxed on the floor, Isagi watches in absolute bewilderment as the boy lifts himself on his hands, twisting his body around and up in a display of insane, flawless grace that no human should be able to perform, and slams his foot on Igarashi’s face. 

The vicious strength in the hit is enough to throw Igarashi to the floor and leave a nasty bruise on his cheek, and everyone starts to sputter useless protest of  _ foul _ ,  _ that was a foul  _ as a delayed reaction to the sudden awakening and impossibly fast violence in response to Igarashi’s attempt to get rid of the ball - but Isagi is helplessly drawn in to the other boy, stunned into silence. 

His eyes are a psychotic, unnatural, bright shade of  _ yellow _ that sends shivers down Isagi’s spine, and the sheer depth of incomprehensible mania in his irises is enough for Isagi to know that he won’t be able to stop looking at him for the rest of his stay at Blue Lock. 

-

_ Isagi _ , the monster whispers in Bachira’s ear.  _ Isagi Youichi.  _

Bachira twists and turns around in his futon. 

He shoves his face into his pillow and drags his blanket tighter around his body, curling around himself. “Yeah, yeah, yeah” he whispers, his voice muffled to inaudible softness as he nibbles at the soft pad of his thumb. “I know.” 

He can’t sleep. 

Bachira can’t sleep decently at night as a rule - he rests in fitful, exhausting intervals, wakes up often, startles awake so many times that it ends up leaving him more frustrated and tired than he was in the first place. Tonight, however, it’s worse than usual. His body is straining with pent-up energy that not even the merciless, ruthless training was able to exhaust out of him, his thoughts rattling around his skull in obsessive little bursts of awareness, and the voice resting like a pool of shadow on the dip under his ear keeps drawling out and speaking up, even more compulsively insistent than it normally is during games and soccer. 

It repeats Isagi’s name, a constant hiss of sound, until it barely feels like a word, until the syllables and letters are dragged beyond their usual range of meaning, until it feels as if it’s not a name, but a physical sensation taking hold of Bachira’s perception and wrapping around it in tendrils, sharp heat making him shiver under the blankets with the same barely restrained mania as he felt when Isagi looked at him for the first time during the entrance test. 

“I know, I know,  _ Isagi _ , yes, I know,” he repeats like a mantra around the pad of his thumb, his forehead pressed harder to the fluffy pillow, his voice hushed to quietness as much as he can manage. He tries closing his eyes so he will stop staring at Isagi lying on his own futon closeby; and while his sight isn’t delighting on the other’s existence, the mere concept of his presence is enough to send an afterthought of tension up Bachira’s limbs, until he has the fingers of his other hand wrapped into a fist at the blankets and his teeth are digging and drawing blood from the knuckles of the hand pressed to his lips. 

Even like this, with people between them, with the knowledge that Isagi probably isn’t thinking about him at all even while Bachira’s mind is tearing itself to shreds over the mere idea of his name, he can  _ feel _ it. The darkness of the monster inside Isagi, squirming and hiding in the dips between his ribs, snarling and breathing dangerous warmth on the back of Bachira’s neck whenever he has his back turned to it. 

It drives Bachira  _ insane. _

He throws the blankets off his body and gets up in a quick, smooth arc of movement. His own monster is pulling at the bottom of his spine, trying to draw him back to the room and back to Isagi. 

“Shush,” Bachira hisses out loud as he paces down the long hallway. “Not now.  _ Not now _ .” 

He guesses he should train, run himself to exhaustion on the treadmill or set some cones to the ground on the field and practice his dribbles to perfection. He could do basic warming up until his body felt like his own again, and not like some glitchy mess of sensations and feelings and urges, but his mind is too flickery to even figure out a course of action clear enough for him to follow, and so he ends up sitting on the floor, his back to the wall, as he waits for something vague and unnamed. 

He’s nearly working his brain to calm again, his breathing slowed down to a pace resembling ordinary, when Isagi comes running out of their shared dorm, and Bachira’s heart skids in his chest and his breath rushes out of his lungs and he wants to kiss him, wants to slam him against a wall, wants to rip out his throat with his teeth and feel his pulse against his lips, wants to taste his blood on his tongue, wants him to fuck him until he’s screaming -

He throws a soccer ball at his head and sings out his name, and when Isagi looks back at him, Bachira can barely contain the delighted little shiver that runs down his spine. 

-

When they kiss for the first time, Isagi presses him back against the wall of the practice field at 4 in the morning, and lifts him up until Bachira has his legs wrapped around his waist and Isagi is supporting his entire weight through the strength of his arms and the support behind them. 

Bachira is moaning and licking at Isagi’s lips, his back arching off the wall to press his body closer to Isagi’s chest, and he lets out a breathless, barely-restrained manic giggle at the feeling of the fingers under his thighs tightening their grip. 

“It’s late,” he purrs, wraps his arms around Isagi’s shoulder, lets out a delighted gasp when Isagi thrusts his hips forward. 

“What?” Isagi says, and his voice is low, dangerously so, his eyes gone hard with lust and the shadows under them carved deeper than usual in his cheekbones, and Bachira shivers with excitement. “You’d rather be sleeping?” 

“ _ Fuck _ , no,” Bachira laughs, louder than he should, and throws his head back so Isagi can bite bruises down the long column of his neck. Somewhere inside him, the monster is purring, licking its lips in pure, complete satisfaction. 

He feels Isagi mumbling something against his neck. 

“What was that?” he asks, only barely attached to reality, his awareness gone pleasantly hazy at the way Isagi digs his teeth on his throat as if trying to reach for something deeper, past skin-level, past blood vessels and muscles, something resting on the very core of Bachira’s being. 

“Your  _ eyes _ ,” Isagi growls, and he sounds shattered, unraveling to pieces and remaking himself while wrecking Bachira with his kisses. 

“What about them?”

“They’re  _ beautiful. _ ”

-

“Do you wanna top only so you can fuck up my performance tomorrow?” Bachira asks as he spreads his legs wider to fit Isagi between them, lets out a breathless gasp of a laugh when the fingers inside him curl and  _ pull _ -

“If that was all it took to fuck you up as a player,” Isagi growls as he leans down, licks at the tender skin covering Bachira’s pulse point on his neck as if he can barely restrain himself from biting down, “you wouldn’t even be here in the first place.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i exhausted myself out from writing too much and this ended up much worse than it should've had. im sorry. i'll write better stuff for them in the future, i promise. BACHIRA IS SO FUN TO WRITE. i love his yellow eyes. isagi is also a little psycho and i love him. i'm running on two hours of sleep and a prayer.


End file.
